


waiting

by darling



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends, 鬼滅の刃 | Kimetsu no Yaiba (Manga)
Genre: Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 09:04:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21159092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darling/pseuds/darling
Summary: natsume meets a spirit with a fox mask. they have both been waiting in different ways.





	waiting

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. it won't make sense if you don't know both canons probably T_T;; sorry... artistic liberties taken...etc.

  
  
*

_not forgotten and so never truly gone; we continue._

*

"this way." the hurried disjointed footfalls jerk to a stop, leaves scattering. it's fall. the boy whose pace feels like fear and loneliness can't be more than thirteen yet he radiates time in both directions so strongly it reminds the spirit of the sea. or perhaps the sky. something vast -- though one can only see a very small part of it at a time. "this way," the spirit repeats and this time honey-toned eyes meet his mask directly. when they dilate, the honey is almost copper. they blink -- distrustful. understandable. when the spirit hops down from the tree, he makes no sound. 

"what do you want?" despite his attempt to be fierce, his voice cannot hide the core of things. 

lifting a finger to the mouth of his mask is enough. the boy goes impossibly still.

it's like he's had years of practice.

behind his mask, the spirit frowns.

another spirit -- achingly beautiful and dangerous with too many claws and wings to count, a bird's nest of would-have-beens -- gusts past, and the wind is so sharp it leaves a bleeding gash across the boy's face. he cries out and covers his mouth almost at once. it takes a while before the trees are quiet with peace rather than threat and when that feeling falls, so does the boy.

"thank you," he says, trembling and pale and honestly still afraid of this spirit too. 

"you did well." pause. "what's your name?"

"natsume. natsume takashi." he's busy now, grabbing a clean leaf to press against his cheek, folding his knees up to his chest, and re-disciplining himself by remembering all the ways not to cry. he can't wait to be alone; he can't wait to not be a burden and a house of fear; he can't--

the crackle of leaves under the spirit's feet is a human kindness and so is how the spirit kneels so they are eye to eye when he half lifts his fox mask and smiles at takashi, takashi who takes in the boy's scar and his like-age and his deep loneliness and --

\-- aches. 

oh.

it hurts.

"oh." tears well and won't stop. takashi drops the leaf as he desperately tries to cover his whole face as it crumples. stop panicking. stop hurting. stop.

the hand in his hair is gentle, callused, and strong. not warm. but takashi didn't really expect that.

"sorry," he less says more mumbles through his palms. 

"no need." this close, the spirit smells a little like woodsmoke, rivers, and something not-quite cinnamon. takashi can't place it. maybe this is how his home smelled like, takashi guesses, when he was alive. sniffling, telling himself to pull it together, takashi drags his dirty sleeve across his closed eyes, scrunches his face and blinks again. breathes. the spirit is still petting him. it should be mortifying but takashi feels such understanding coming from him he can't help his relief. it's still embarrassing. but it's like he's being told that that is okay too; how the water runs in a river no matter what you happen to be doing; how your heart beats until it doesn't; how the mind yearns, even when you tell it not to.

"ah, still," takashi bites his lip. "um. what is your name, please?" the politeness that will follow him for the rest of his life is just gentleness really, but no one who cares enough to like natsume takashi has stayed long enough to know this. spirits. humans. the beings in-between. then again, takashi is one of those last. a stepping stone. or a bridge. 

"sabito," the boy says and when he smiles this time, it's wider but no less soft.

takashi, though still tearful, is encouraged, folds his hands smudged with earth and blood and emptiness aching to be full, and lifts his head so sabito can't miss it:

a smile like sunrise in a quiet town waiting to love him. 

it takes him by surprise but sabito remembers a smile like this, though it has been many many years: another boy with a fox mask who, like this boy, was always stronger than he gave himself credit for. 

hey giyuu, sabito thinks, raising a clean leaf to takashi's cheek again, were you happy?

once? twice? a few more times than that?

"thank you," takashi says again. sabito hums, and thinks: no, thank you. because it's not that he would ever truly forget giyuu. but centuries are long and waiting is even longer. the gods don't tell you this and they probably have no business doing so: the deals we make, the dead and the living. about next times. and last times. and this time. 

this time, sabito thinks...and stops.

"you're welcome," he says instead and when takashi stands to leave, he sways. sabito's hand steadies him and even as a spirit he can feel how light takashi is; like he'll disappear at any given moment. the fox mask on his head feels heavier. "will you be okay?"

the look takashi gives him says enough even in the microsecond he fails to put his own mask of nonchalance on -- not yet perfected, still too young and showing all his cracks. sabito is, for some reason, reminded of kintsugi, and he wonders what gold dust will fortify takashi's history -- hopes it comes soon and if not soon, then soon enough. 

"i think so," takashi says and it's honest. sabito knows a gift when he receives one and bows his head slightly. the best he can give in return is to believe him; so he does. says,

"it was nice to meet you, natsume takashi."

it has been so long since sabito has met someone who could see him, speak with him, let him touch.

it has been so long since takashi has met someone who would see him, speak with him, let him touch. 

it has been so long.

and time doesn't work the way we think it does; or not only: in hours or days or years. it's absence. and it's presence. it's the forest never quite touching the sea, waiting to come -- 

  
  


\-- home. 

*


End file.
